The Searing Touch
by Featherveil
Summary: No, I don't always write slash! This one features Morgoth, Sauron, and a female prisoner... not as terrible as it sounds, and entirely heterosexual. Based on 'Nar Tinwen' by Arwen Imladviel.


Melkor had returned from Valinor with the Silmarils, and the building-work of the fortress of Angband swarmed all around his deep-delved throne-room. There he sat with the three Jewels atop his crude iron-crown, majestic and horrible at the same time. Sauron stood by his side, offering plan after plan for watchtowers, dungeons and suchlike. Already the fortress was the greatest ever, with mountains as its guarding wall and inhabited by ever- swelling armies of orcs.   
"Leave the plans for today."  
"My Lord?"  
The questioning tone irritated Melkor. Sometimes Sauron really forgot his place. Take the business with that prisoner, for example. And now he behaved like Melkor was mad or something. Was he not the Lord of this fortress, could he not do what he wanted? Now he wanted a rest. He was not like Sauron, who seemed to know nothing but work. Melkor had seen Valinor, and learned a lesson there. Not the lesson the Valar would have wanted him to learn, of course. He had learned that patience was the surest way to success. He did not plan to make a sudden attempt at vanquishing all Middle- Earth, nor would he let all Middle-Earth vanquish him. So he would not make rushed decisions. The time would come, and while waiting, there were pleasures to be discovered. The only thing Sauron took pleasure in was work... and, of course, the prisoner. The prisoner who had not been beaten once! The prisoner with all limbs and both eyes still in place. What pleasure was there with such a thing? And yet Sauron had dared to ask the prisoner not be harmed. There was no solution to the puzzle but to ask him. 

Melkor did. 

"My Lord, you devour the pain of others, and it makes you stronger. But I have found another enjoyment with her. You would not believe, my Lord. I told you she came to me, she loved me. She thought she had power to convert me like they thought you had been converted. They didn't send her, she came by herself, voluntarily. And I deceived her and bound her to myself." 

"Deceived her? Bound her? Why bother, with such a weakling, an one-note singer in the Ainurin choir? Was she, perhaps, too strong for you? Too smart for you, to capture straight away, the surest way?"  
"N-no, m-my Lord."  
"Then why on Arda would you do such a thing?" Sauron gulped.   
"I begin to suspect you do not tell me all. Perhaps she almost succeeded converting you?"  
"My Lord, it was only a part of my plan. I wanted to bind her to me stronger than any iron can bind. I have chained her with her own words, her oath, no less."   
"But words can have hidden meanings, exeptions, escapes. Surely you do not trust her words alone?"v "My Lord, there is plenty of iron holding her as well."   
"And does this iron weigh her, burn her, freeze her, bite her, eat her, smite her?"   
"Er- no. Not as such. Actually."   
"And why is this so? Why is there an Ainurin spirit captured in my dungeons, yet not suffering for her crimes against me?"   
"I have developed an use for her." Sauron became exited. He was irritating when he was exited. Thinking himself so brilliant. His fiery eyes shining, his lips already forming words of self-praise. As his servant described his findings, thus revealing both an inventiveness and a certain simplicity of spirit Melkor had not attached to him only moments ago, he saw Sauron was not as hopeless as he had thought. He was far worse. 

"So. You find pleasure in coupling. Maybe I should breed you with orc- bitches, then. Might even count as race improvement."  
"My Lord!" Melkor laughed. It was a deep and joyless sound. Of course he was only teasing Sauron. One of him was more than enough. Suddenly he had another idea.   
"Take me to the prisoner." 

The chamber was opened. Melkor saw the prisoner, a slim shape with shadowy hair and very large, sad eyes. Melkor knew her from Valinor. He had been the one to suggest she could seek Sauron in Middle-Earth and bring him back to light. It had seemed an amusing idea at the time. 

The woman's expression, when she lifted her head and saw Melkor, was surprising: she stared at the Silmarils, taking joy in them. Only after a while did she notice Melkor, and her terror overflowed. Oh, what fun it was to torture. Living flesh to be broken. Already he could almost taste her blood on his tongue. Then Melkor remembered. This time, he would try something different. 

She was burning to the touch. She bit and scratched like a mad animal. When she realised Melkor only took pleasure in her feeble attacks, she became still as stone. No matter. If only she had screamed... But as it was, she was a lot of fun as long as she lasted. 

Sauron entered the chamber after his Lord had departed. He found a stiff bundle on the floor. He took her in his arms. Her clothes were rags, her skin was burned and rough, her hair was tangled and shineless. Gone was the beauty, gone was the noble sorrow that Sauron had found so fascinating. Such was the touch of Melkor. Diriel opened her eyes. She saw Sauron, whom she had first loved, then hated as he betrayed her. Now all his violations seemed like nothing compared to what Melkor had been. Sauron kissed her very gently. She found herself responding against her will. It was so comforting to imagine he was, after all, changed. For a moment they sat on the floor holding each other, grieving for the two lovers they almost might have been. Then Diriel asked:   
"Why?"  
"He is my Lord."   
She stared at him, then she spat on his face. The last strands of tenderness between them broke.   
"Curse you! I will be avenged! You and your lord will come to know pain."  
"Maybe I know some already", Sauron spoke under his breath. 

Later, Sauron was lying on his bed with his favourite concubine in his arms. She had gained this position because she usually made him forget all difficult thoughts. Melkor did not know Sauron as well as he thought. Work was merely an another way of driving the haunting thoughts away. This time the thoughts persisted.   
"Thuringwethil?"   
"Yes, my lord?"   
"Do you ever think about... when you served Manwë?"   
"Yes, my lord, as a matter of fact I do."   
"What do you think?"   
"I think... what would Manwë's blood taste like?"   
Then, without warning, she bit into Sauron's neck. He bit back after that. Vampires play it rough. 

**** Note: I owe thanks to whoever wrote the story that gave me these troubling ideas, long ago - too bad I've forgotten the name. It was an innocent story, but then again, so is the Silmarillion and yet I can't stop ruining the mental images my readers have of it. So whoever wrote about Melkor and a female prisoner, maybe there was more than one story, be honoured; for you are slandered beside the Great Tolkien himself... 


End file.
